Archive of Our Own

In hindsight he probably should have waited for help when the entire abandoned house toppled on top of him, stayed put and allowed the others to help him out of the pile of rotting wood he found himself in. In hindsight, he should've heeded Cap's warning that the structure was going to give at any moment, and his own ears at the ominous creaking and groaning the structure have at the slightest movement. In hindsight he shouldn't have left his partner's side, headed down the twisted steps to what used to be a basement but was honestly now just a foul smelling hole in the ground, stayed up near the sunlight and the air and help.

But hindsight never did anyone any good other than filling your head with 'what-ifs' and 'could-have's and 'should-have's. And he wasn't one to dwell on such things like hindsight, at least, not in regards to himself. He let his partner handle that area.

In hindsight, well, John Gage had little self-perseverance, and would endanger his own life time and time again to make sure those who he deemed more important would stay safe. And, knowing either he or Roy would have had to go down, he just shrugged and said I'll do it, you check the rooms up here.

He'd volunteer himself every single time, if it meant his partner, his best friend, the light of his life got away scott free, back to his family, his wife and kids. If Roy could stay as uninjured as possible, Johnny would give himself up over and over again. Roy was important, Roy had someone to go home to. Multiple someones, in fact. John, well, he had no one. An empty house, an empty life, only a string of short-lived flings and the crush of a lifetime from the moment he had met Roy, so long ago on that faithful day–

And, no one had time to dwell on that, not now, not as John carefully extracted himself from the heap of rubble, not as he called up that he was fine and wasn't trapped and would be up in a minute, don't worry (a lie, and he could already see the pinched, terrified face Roy'd be making, like he does every time John's hurt and there's nothing his partner can do at the moment.) No, Johnny had no time to dwell on such trivial things such as his own self-worth and how he'd rather die than hurt Roy's family any further than he already was with this crush that hung low and heavy and hot in his chest, like a wildfire that refused to be subdued.

And maybe his ponderings, despite his insistence of not dwelling, was a sign of something, something he couldn't quite put a finger on, something he should be concerned about. But he simply shook his head, and lifted the beam off his legs the best he could and shifted, scooted, moved out from under it until his legs were free and his arms were shaking with strain.

He let it crash to the ground with a plume of dust, waving his hand in front of his face and biting back a cough that scratched at the back of his throat like glass. He swallowed painfully and did a quick assessment to make sure nothing was broken, and nothing seemed to be, he didn't notice any swelling or obvious breaks, nothing twisted wrong. And then he slowly got to his feet.

If his legs felt like Jell-o, if he shook and wobbled like a newborn deer, barely able to get them underneath of him, if the room tilted and spun alarmingly for a moment as he straightened up, dark spots gathering in his eyes as he rapidly blinked to clear them…

Well. He'd chalk it up to the adrenaline leaving him in a rush. He hadn't hit his head, hadn't lost consciousness (he didn't think so at least, he couldn't think, thinking was too hard and muddled and felt like he was swimming upstream through sludge, and all he could think of was getting out of this damned house and back to Roy, Roy, making sure his partner was okay, was unhurt, was–)

Nothing hurt, and maybe it was because of the last dredges of adrenaline pumping in his veins, because no matter how self-sacrificial he could be his body still reacted accordingly to near-death experiences, and he sure did have his fair share of them. Too many, Roy would often remind him, face grave and serious, blue eyes swimming with emotions that Roy never said but Johnny had learned to read so efficiently Roy didn't need to say anything, really. And suddenly all of Johnny's thoughts were of Roy, his blue eyes, impossibly bright and shining like the most precious of gemstones that Johnny could never afford, could only watch from afar.

Okay. Maybe… just maybe, Johnny had knocked his head against something, just a little, because he never waxed poetic about anything except in his own dreams at night when he was alone, alone, so alone, and he was alone here, everyone out of reach above him, and a sudden bout of dizziness swept over him and almost sent Johnny to the floor and he had to sit down on one of the precariously stacked bits of wood before he passed out, or vomited, or–

"Okay, get a grip, Gage," he whispered to himself, rubbing his eyes and not noticing the blood that painted his glove, or ran down his face in rivulets. He most definitely had a concussion or something to that effect, his focus when not on a rescue or with a patient was slippery at best sometimes, but right now it felt like trying to focus on any single thought for more than a second was an impossible task. Like staring up at the sheer cliff face and knowing he'd have to climb to the very peak.

He should go hiking on his next day off.

No.

He had to focus, on the here, the now.

He was barely free from collapsed house, 6 feet underground surrounded by dirt and decay and–

He was in a grave, his mind supplied, helpfully, and he shook his head and stood up, swaying as the world blinked and tilted 45° to the left before righting itself.

No. Some damned abandoned house local teens were fucking around in would not be his grave. He may not have the best self-perseverance but he still had standards goddamn it.

He wiped what he thought was sweat from the side of his face, before grimacing up at the dangerously stacked pile that at some point used to be a house. He could try climbing, he was pretty damn good at it, but one wrong move would send the thing tumbling down around him again and then he would be hurt. He slowly turned and took in the room, heaving a sigh knowing there was only one way up and out.

And even if he did manage to get up the pile the stupid three story house had blocked the stairwell, and the hole in the floor… ceiling?... that would be his only ways out.

Very little had actually made it to the basement, the rest a precarious timebomb that needed the wrong, or right, move to topple completely. And Johnny knew the rest of station 51 would be digging their way down as quickly as they could.

And right on time he heard Cap bellow, "Hang tight, Gage, we'll get you out as soon as we can! Are you hurt?"

Johnny cupped his hands around his mouth and hollered back, "Right! I'm okay, Cap, just stuck down here!"

A mistake, as his head finally flared in a blinding railroad spike of pain that drove through his temple, but he grit his teeth and steadied himself.

Walked over to where he thought the steps were, and really the light filtering from the gaps between floorboards and the partially collapsed section wasn't great, especially with the dust in the air, so he misjudged and tripped over them.

Sprawled onto the ground on his hands and knees and had to squeeze his eyes shut as the room around him whirled nauseatingly, and he barely managed to stay somewhat upright as he vomited what little lunch he had managed to eat before this run onto the ground in front of him, and then dry-heaved for two minutes for good measure until his headache doubled and his stomach clenched painfully around nothing.

Right, well, in hindsight he should have realized he was hurt but hindsight never helped nobody.

And telling someone wouldn't get him out quicker, it would only make his stationmates' work sloppy with worry.

So he kept this little detail to himself. For now.

Until he got out of here. If he got out of here.

John carefully picked himself up off the ground, wiped the sweat from his face, and picked his way over to the stairs and sat heavily down on them.

Thankfully they held his weight, he didn't know what he'd do if he had to somehow climb the debris pile.

And there was no way in hell he…

He what? What was he thinking about? Roy would be worried about him, about him losing his track of thought like that. But Roy was up there, safe, hopefully unhurt and–

Johnny closed his eyes and decided, yeah, he'd rather die down here than have Roy down here with him, even if the loneliness was making it hard to breathe. He opened his eyes for a moment.

Maybe it was the dust-filled air, as more drifted down like the antithesis of a waterfall from where the others stomped out of reach above him.

It was definitely the dust.

What was the dust?

He was tired.

He knew sleeping was a bad idea, but he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer.

Don't fall asleep, Junior, Roy's voice swam in his brain, and Johnny mumbled something like "it's hard, 'm tired," but opened his eyes anyway.

Roy was still above him. He was still alone.

This time, the warning his brain gave went unheeded as he dropped into unconsciousness.

For minutes, hours, days, he didn't know but when he forced himself awake again all he did know was that he felt worse, now more than his head hurt, though that still throbbed like someone was bashing it in with an icepick repeatedly. But now every inch of him ached with a vengeance, unhappy at having part of a house fall on him.

And he had an off, floating feeling in his head that paired with his dizziness made him feel seasick of all things.

Where even was he? Where was Roy? Was Roy alright?

It took a long minute, too long, for his sluggish thoughts to form into something semi coherent, and Johnny remembered the dilapidated house, going inside to look for a missing, possibly trapped teen, going downstairs and a rumble and then–

Then what? Something obviously happened, the house hadn't been this bad when they entered, right?

Oh. Duh, the house fell on top of him. Knocked his lights out pretty well, apparently.

"Johnny?!" A panicked, all too familiar voice called from shockingly close, yet all too far, muffled by debris and wood and who knew what else that trapped him down here. It had to be Roy.

It took his name being called two more times and an embarrassingly long time for him to come up with the words to answer. "Y-yeah?" He called back, shocked at how feebly it came out. He cleared his throat and raised his voice slightly. "Yeah, Roy?"

There was a moment, and somehow a palpable relief in the air as Roy replied, "why'd you stop responding. We've been calling for you for seven minutes now and nothing."

Had they? He hadn't heard them.

"I-uh-well," he scrambled for an answer but came up short himself. "I dunno," he finally, truthfully, said.

"Johnny," and Roy's voice was a careful mask of calm that betrayed his worry, a maelstrom that swirled just beneath the surface ready to burst. "Did you hit your head, or are you injured in any other way?"

"I, uh, uh," had he hit his head? It sure felt like it but he sure as hell didn't remember. He picked through his brain and came up with nothing, and if his thoughts weren't so scattered maybe he'd have thought to check for a head wound, but he didn't.

"I don't know," he said again, sitting up straighter and regretting it as everything protested sharply.

"Dammit, Johnny," and John flinched at the sheer volume and fear-borne-anger that exploded too closely and yet too far away. "Why didn't you say something?"

"I 'unno," he said for a third time, slowly standing up and leaning heavily against the wall. "I dunno," he repeated, "I guess, it wouldn't have made you guys get to me any quicker and would only worry you."

"What worried me was you suddenly going quiet for all too long, Johnny."

"Yeah, well," he bit back defensively, "get back to diggin' and get me the hell out of this grave and then you can worry over me all ya want, 'kay? Just lay off for now." He sighed, momentary frustration fleeing as quickly as it appeared and leaving him far more exhausted than he should be. "Just, get me out, Roy."

There was a shuffle, the sound of something being tossed aside with a hollow clatter, and then "right, yeah." A pause, and, "We'll be through soon, just hang in there, Johnny."

"10-4," he mumbled and slumped against the wall. Roy said something that Johnny didn't quite catch, but knew he was expecting an answer so he made a noise to show he was awake.

Barely.

Sleep sounded really good right now. His bed at home, or his bunk at the station, or the couch even. Hell, he'd take a chair at the table right now.

He almost nodded off again but the world tilting as he almost fell over shocked him awake and Johnny groaned. "Roy?"

"Yeah?"

"Hurry up."

"Yeah."

A moment later something shifted and a face peered through a small hole at the top of the stairs, and Johnny couldn't stop the smile from spreading across his face. "Heya, Roy," he croaked, biting back a cough as dust plumed around him before settling.

"Hey yourself, partner." He could see Roy's appraising eye checking him over the best he could from where he was, and the seriousness was extremely attractive when it wasn't directed at Johnny, though he could think of a situation he wouldn't mind

Stop. Not here, not now.

He coughed slightly and fidgeted under Roy's stare before saying, "take a picture, it'll last longer, Pally," as he fought a blush from creeping up his neck.

And, in hindsight, he should have known Roy would see right through him, he always did, but Johnny's brain wasn't firing on all cylinders right then.

Roy just frowned heavily, not liking whatever he saw, and Johnny frowned back, as Roy's face disappeared from the small hole and he yelled something over his shoulder.

"Did you take your pulse," he asked, almost casually if not for the slight tremor to his voice and the, well, house crumbling above them. "Or check your respirations?"

Johnny didn't answer and rubbed his neck. That was answer enough and Roy hissed, "Johnny!"

"What," He grit his teeth, watching the hole get wider, taller, slowly, surely.

And then Roy was slipping through as someone continued to widen it, and then Roy froze, halfway down the steps as the light shifted and illuminated Johnny better.

"Johnny," And Roy's voice was terrified, shaking like a leaf before he took another step forward. "Is that blood?"

"What? Where?" John raised his hand to his face before pulling it away and finally seeing the blood on his gloves, and letting out a shaky laugh. "Yeah, yeah seems like it, huh. Weird, I-I didn't even notice," and that was the wrong thing to say and he shouldn't have looked because Roy's eyes widened and Johnny's vision tunneled. His voice sounded a million miles away as he gasped, "oh man, I don't believe this, 'm gonna pass out."

And then, as he said he would, Johnny did, in fact, pass out, falling forward as Roy shouted his name and caught him before he brained himself, again, on the stairs.

And, in hindsight, always in hindsight, because for all his dismissals of hindsights he thought about them a lot, Johnny was real lucky Roy was there. That Roy was always there to pick him up when his tendencies came back to bite him in the ass.

He woke up quicker than before, or maybe slower he didn't know how long he'd been out for but…

Johnny'd been extracted from the much more collapsed house, and was in the goddamn stokes on the ground as Roy fretted over him like a mother hen. And Johnny would be all for the attention if he wasn't currently sick to his stomach with the headache of a lifetime and apparently painted with his own blood drying down the left side of his face if the stiff, itchy, sticky feeling told him anything.

At least he got his thoughts together slightly quicker this time. Small victories, John.

He felt Roy pick up his wrist and take his pulse, before turning to the Bio-phone and relaying Johnny's vitals.

Instead of letting Roy know he was awake in a normal manner, like a hey or a cough or even a groan, he instead opened his mouth, and promptly bitched. "Why am I in the stokes," he grouched, and no he didn't pout, John Gage didn't pout, but the look he gave Roy was a mixture of annoyance and pure, unadulterated misery.

Roy's head snapped towards him quick enough to cause whiplash, and Johnny attempted to grin up at him but it came out more like a pained grimace which Roy returned.

"Rampart, the victim is now awake and coherent," Roy spoke into the Bio-phone, ignoring John's indignant squawk of victim? what I don't even get a name?  "Well," Roy sighed with an annoyed-fond eye roll. "As coherent as Johnny usually is."

"10-4 Squad 51. Start an IV of Ringer's Lactate and bring him in as soon as possible. Is the ambulance on scene?" Dr. Brackett's voice rang through from the line.

"Affirmative Rampart. IV of Ringers, transport as soon as possible," Roy agreed, turning back to Johnny as he put the receiver down and grabbing the necessary equipment to start an IV.

Johnny wanted to say that this was all unnecessary, he was fine, it was just some blood and a small head wound. But then he remembered that he threw up and passed out at least twice, and, well, everything was still swaying slightly and twisting oddly in his field of view which didn't help settle his nausea, so he held his tongue.

Averted his gaze and forced himself not to flinch as he felt the IV being inserted. "Hey," he rasped, frowning at his voice. "Damn dust," he huffed, clearing his throat and saying again, "Hey."

Roy glanced up at him, unmasked worry etched across his strong–beautiful, perfect–features, and John felt a hot curl of guilt and shame burn in his gut. He really did it this time, huh? Screw up of the century, to put that look on Roy'a face.

"Hey, I'm gonna be fine, y'know. I've been through worse."

Roy's eyes narrowed and Johnny almost balked. Almost. "I know," is what he said, eyes sweeping over Johnny from head to boot. "But it doesn't make it easier."

And, frightened by Roy's rare show of emotion, of talking about something so touchy as this, Johnny's disregard for his own well being, well, he couldn't look at Roy anymore as the guilt rose up his throat and threatened to choke him.

"Sorry," he murmured, lowering his voice so onky Roy could hear him, aware of the others milling around just out of sight, but knowing not to interrupt whatever this was. "About…"

Roy tilted his head, John saw him do so out of the corner of his eye though he kept his gaze carefully averted, and asked, "about what?"

Johnny would have scrubbed his face with his hands, run a hand through his hair or-or something if he wasn't tied to the damn stokes, but he couldn't. Instead, he clenched and unclenched his fists. Guild made his voice thick when he spoke, but he had no control over it, not anymore. "About getting hurt, 'n not telling ya, and…" he finally looked at Roy who had something unreadable on his face and this time Johnny did balk.

Dropped his gaze once more, and whispered, "Just, 'm sorry."

Roy sighed and put his hand on Johnny's shoulder. "Let's get you to Rampart, yeah?"

"Right."

He was loaded up on the stretcher and finally looked around to see Chet silently gathering the Bio-phone and drug box and following Roy to the ambulance, while Marco and Mike cleaned up the rest of the stuff from the squad and out it away in the correct compartments. Cap stood slightly off to the side, eyes narrowed in worry as he watched Johnny.

The same scene that always played out, whenever John got hurt. He looked away again, didn't know why they bothered to worry about him of all people, it's not like he was anyone important. Didn't like the way it made his guilt double, adding to his already tentative grasp on his stomach, though he somehow managed to keep it together.

"Chet will follow with the squad," Cap told Roy as he climbed in next to Johnny, who was finally out of the stupid stokes and now just laying on the uncomfortable stretcher. He would have bitched the entire way, made his displeasure known.

No, a glance at Roy's face, still tight with fright and bordering shell-shocked made John reconsider. He'd have dealt with it for the ride, he couldn't bear to open his mouth. He'd only stick his foot in it again.

The doors closed and Johnny heard the customary two slaps against the side of the vehicle, and felt it lurch slightly as it began to move.

The ride was mostly silent, aside from a pained hiss whenever Roy probed at the cut, bump, and accompanying bruise across his temple. Roy contacted Rampart once to alert them of their ETA, before they fell silent again.

Until John caught a glance of Roy's face again, same look still there, and, to his horror and total mortification, felt his eyes burn with tears. Roy noticed and got to his feet even as Johnny looked away, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

Johnny wished for more, a hug or a hand in his, hell, he'd accept a worried hand to his cheek. His guilt swallowed these thoughts and he almost choked.

"Johnny, what's wrong?" Roy asked, worry evident even without Johnny looking.

"Nothing," he replied, too quickly, because he felt Roy's hand gently grip his chin and tilt his head towards him. Johnny didn't fight the grip, even as his heart pounded, seconds from being swallowed whole by the dark cloud of guilt and the burn of his crush, longingly needy. "Sorry," he added as an afterthought.

"About what?" and Roy was genuinely confused, not removing his hand and making John meet his eyes even as tears blurred his own.

"Your face," he blurted, and it would have been funny if he wasn't two seconds from having a total breakdown in front of his partner, his best friend, the first person he'd ever loved since his parents died–

"What?" Roy blinked, taken aback, and Johnny almost laughed.

It came out as an almost-sob that he barely swallowed before making a fool of himself.

"Johnny, you're scarin' me here," and oh now Roy's voice was shaking and his eyes widened in terror and Johnny was only digging himself deeper into this grave.

He lifted his hands, mindful of the IV, and rubbed his eyes. "Sorry, 'm sorry, I didn't mean," and he almost grabbed his hair in frustration because of all the times for his inability to say what he meant, now was not it. "What I meant-well," and he was aware of his voice shaking more and more as he tripped over his words and anger at himself and his guilt clashed and grew, and he could feel the tears he desperately tried to stop flow from his eyes and he made a disgusted sound towards himself and must of said something self-deprecating because suddenly his hands were being pulled from his face and held between Roy's and…

Wow. He really fucked things up, all he was capable of doing was upsetting Roy.

"John?" Tentative, and oh-so worried, and Johnny didn't deserve his worry or fear or care.

"Stop," he choked, taking a shuddering breath. "That look on your face…"

And, in hindsight, it could have all been chalked up to his concussion and swept under the rug but Johnny knew Roy would make him discuss it when he wasn't concussed because he knew it wasn't that.

"I don't deserve it. Save it for someone who does."

Roy stiffened and opened his mouth but before he could say anything, the back doors opened and the two ambulance attendants took hold of his gurney and he quickly scrubbed his face to try and hide any evidence of whatever just happened.

Roy gave him a look that screamed that that conversation wasn't over as he quickly followed Johnny into the hospital and John scraped together every piece of him he could and tried to assemble his mask again as Dix caught sight of him and frowned.

He tried to give her a typical Gage Grin but it fell short and she knew something was up but she ordered him to be put into Room One and she and Brackett followed him in. He was transferred to the bed in the room, getting a quite reprimand to stop moving from Dix.

While Brackett was checking his head and his vitals Johnny's eyes darted to Roy and something unspoken passed between them, and Roy's eyes lost his fear and became calculating and that didn't bode well but Brackett asked him questions and he had to turn his attention away from his partner to answer.

When his eyes darted back over Roy was gone, as was Dixie, and his heart almost skipped a beat before he realized Brackett ordered x-rays

"How much of your zoning out is about your concussion and how much has to do with Roy," Brackett asked, knowingly, a small smirk tugging his lips, and Johnny new he was probably okay if Brackett wasn't stressing out but it didn't really click and everything still felt like too much and not enough and he really wanted Roy right now.

"Huh?" He blurted before pausing to think about what Brackett just asked. Then he narrowed his eyes and stared at the wall, ignoring Brackett entirely. The doctor gave him a knowing look and left the room as the X-ray attendant pulled the cumbersome machine in.

After X-rays were taken of his head and developed, then scoured over by Doc and Dixie and it was determined that his, and Johnny quotes, thick skull saved him again and he was suffering from a grade 2, maybe grade 3 concussion.

And that he had to stay overnight for observation.

Great. Wonderful. Fantastic. Far out, really.

No, really, can't you see how excited he is to have another stay ala Rampart?

Dixie rolled her eyes and patted his arm and told him, "settle down, tiger. We all know how much you love it here."

He knew it was justified, he could imagine

And, with a set of 12 stitches and his face cleaned of blood he looked almost presentable again.

Almost.

Dixie narrowed her eyes with a speculative frown at the slightly wild, guilt ridden look Johnny tossed his partner as Roy entered, slowly as if he wasn't trying to scare a spooked animal. And Johnny would have said something like I'm alright or You don't gotta tiptoe I'm decent, or cracked a joke or something. But, instead, he played the part of a spooked animal as his heart betrayed him and raced, and he barely was able to keep his features schooled into something considered in pain and not terrified out of his mind because he let something about his goddamned psyche he really hadn't wanted to be aired to anyone let alone Roy.

"How ya doing," Roy said and Johnny shrugged.

"Feels like my head got run over," and then he winced when he realized what he said, because he definitely had been hit by a car before and didn't need to be bringing up reminders.

But Roy relaxed slightly and gave him a tired smile. "Yeah, bet you do. Got to stay for observation?"

Johnny sighed and nodded dejectedly. Sniffed, "earned myself a stay at Hotel Rampart… again."

"Well, at least you'll get something for the pain," and it's phrased as a question but it's not, really, as Roy's blue eyes drill into Dixie's and she stares him down with her chin lifted.

"If he's good, and leaves my nurses alone, I'll think about giving him something when he gets settled in a room. For now he just has to let the aspirin we gave him set in."

And chasing skirt is the last thing Johnny was thinking about right now. Mostly about how much his head hurt and the rest about Roy, and how to fix things before they got too out of limbo to do so.

But he grinned anyway and promised, "I'll behave Dix. Come on, is that anyway to treat your favorite patient?"

She shook her head fondly and patted his hand before leaving the room, calling, "you'll be taken up in 10 minutes," over her shoulder.

Leaving him and Roy.

They both spoke.

"Look, I'm sorry about-"

"You really scared the-"

Johnny cleared his throat and grinned, just a little, before gesturing for Roy to go first.

Roy sighed and rubbed his face. "You really scared me, Johnny," and yeah, there it is, the guilt curling in his chest. Welcome back, buddy, he was starting to miss you.

"When-when you didn't respond and I couldn't see you to tell if you were okay or pinned under a ton of debris or bleeding out on the floor, I really got scared," he earnestly told Johnny. "And when I saw the blood on your face, and you passed out, I thought I was losing you."

"I'm sorry," Johnny apologized. "Don't… don't like makin' you worry, not over me. I'm not worth it."

"Why," Roy almost shouted, then, taking a stride, two, closer, until he was face to face with Johnny. Or as close to it with John sitting on the bed. And it wasn't anger, but confusion, but it made Johnny reel and flinch backwards all the same.

"What do you mean 'why'?" he barked back. "Why what?"

Roy ran his hands through his hair in a motion that was so shockingly Johnny that John faltered and whatever semblance of defensive anger faded away.

And when Roy spoke it was so heartbreakingly sad it made Johnny's chest tighten painfully. "Why do you gotta throw yourself into danger, every time?"

Johnny scoffed, making Roy blink in befuddlement. "Because," and his tone was so matter-of-fact it bordered sarcastic, his hands gesturing wildly. "You're important. I can't just let you waltz into danger, ya got a wife and kids, Roy. You can't just leave them behind, and 'm not about to be the one to let you."

Roy stared as he worked over Johnny's words, before he realized what Johnny said but not so much in words and reeled back like he had been slapped. "You…"

John stared him down, a challenge he wasn't going to back down from, not this time. Even as his heart hammered and his breathing picked up and his eyes burned with tears.

He dared Roy to say it.

Roy shook his head, as if he couldn't believe it. And he probably couldn't. "Do you really think so lowly of yourself? That you aren't important?" And his voice was thick with something tbat tore at Johnny's chest but he just glanced away, finally.

"What else is there to say. I'm not. I don't have a family, no one waitin' at home for me, no one to worry about me, hell, I have no one, Roy. And you-you have so much to lose and people who worry and love you and I could never forgive myself if something happened to you when I could have gone in your stead."

Roy gaped at him before shaking his had with a, a laugh. But not a happy one, no, it was one if disbelief and Johnny had heard that every single time from every girl he tried to date to forget about Roy and he knew what was coming–

"I can't believe this," Roy sighed, and here it fucking comes, good going Gage, you have truly fucked up the only meaningful relationship you've ever had–

And then Roy spoke and it felt like a physical blow because Johnny wasn't expecting it.

Roy looked up to him and stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on Johnny's cheek and whispered, almost brokenly, "Oh, Johnny. You have people who care for you. You're-you're my best friend, and-and I love you, and so does Joanne, and the kids adore you, I sometimes think they like you more than they like me, and what about the guys at the station?"

But Johnny had stopped listening after he heard the L word.

"Don't joke with me," he wheezed out past his thundering heart, trying desperately to not hyperventilate. "Roy DeSoto, do not fuck with me, not right now."

"I'm not, Johnny, I promise, please," and he tried to meet Johnny's eye but Johnny was acutely terrified of what he would see there, disgust or hate or the same cruel joy at making someone suffer as so many people had looked at with John before–

And some part of Johnny screamed this was Roy he was thinking about. Roy, who, while he could be pissy, didn't have a cruel bone in his body.

But the rest of him, who had been beaten down time and time again, raised every wall he had, and he pulled away from Roy's hand, not looking at him. "Don't," he choked around the lump in his throat.

"What'll convince you I'm telling the truth, John," Roy whispered, broken and sounding as terrified as John felt. And Johnny shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut and shook, more scared of this than anything in his life because he was going to lose the only family he kind of sorta had.

And then Roy took his face in both his hands, stroked his cheekbones with his thumbs and then

kissed him.

And every single wall, every single thought shattered into a million pieces and his eyes flew open as Roy pulled away and John

moved.

Forward and pushed his lips against Roy's because if he was going to lose him he was going to savor this god fucking damn it!

But then Roy kissed him back and some part of him screamed they were going to be caught but the rest was just so excited he was getting what he craved from the first moment he had met Roy.

They pulled away but stayed mere inches apart, breathing heavily as they stared at each other. "You're a part of my family, Johnny," Roy told him, smiling.

Family.

Oh Spirits what had he done?!

Johnny backed up in such a panic he almost actually passed out and gasped, "Roy, Joanne!!"

And Roy understood and raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Woah, woah, take it easy, she knows, Jo knows, and she's okay with it."

Johnny shook his head, not believing he heard right, and Roy repeated, "Joanne knows. She's okay."

"What?" and it was embarrassingly weak and strained but Johnny couldn't quite wrap his head around what Roy was saying. "Wait, what?"

"She knows," Roy, ever so patient, repeated again. "Johnny, trust. Jo's fine with this. Hell, she knew before I did."

Johnny's eyebrows knit together as his mind whirled. "She… knows?"

"Yeah."

"And she's… okay with it?"

"Yep. Well, there is one stipulation," Roy mused, scratching his cheek.

Johnny turned a suspicious eye towards his… what? What were they now? Boyfriends? Maybe. "What stipulation?"

"Well, y'see… she said if this was going to work out, heh, she wants to see what that 'Gage Charm' is all about and be properly woo'd by you. Nice dinner, 'n all that."

Johnny blinked owlishly as he wrapped his head around what Roy just said. Then shook his head with a relieved grin. "Oh, well, 'm sure I could figure somethin' out. What about you? Ya wanna be, ahem, woo'd too?"

"Oh trust me, I've been thoroughly woo'd for years."

John opened his mouth to give a tongue-in-cheek reply, but Dixie knocked on the door and announced John was being moved. Roy took a harried step backwards as Dixie entered with a wheelchair, but she gave them a knowing look and they knew she knew, and then she winked with a grin before parking the chair before Johnny.

"I should say congrats," she purred mischievously, giving them a sly look, "but it seems I owe Joe some money, but Kel owes me even more, so I'l rather thank you."

Roy and Johnny shared a look before Johnny flushed, and barked, "now wait a moment! Wait a moment! What do you mean? You had a-a betting pool on–"

Dixie just smiled a devilish grin and gestured to the wheelchair.